


Turbulence

by madcowmama



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby x Raven, F/F, after raven sleeps with wick, doctor mechanic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madcowmama/pseuds/madcowmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abby responds to Raven's tryst with Wick. Also, the attack on Mt. Weather. Big thanks to tumblr users cirquedereve, shipsbecomearmadas, and beyondcanon for being awesome early readers!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turbulence

Raven is missing. Even when Abby saw her last— across camp, at breakfast— Raven looked down, she looked away, she vanished.

It’s not like Abby can chase her down. It’s not like Abby has any hold, any claim at all on Raven, but…

Abby seeks her out anyway. Abby has things to do, a camp to run, rounds to make, plans to refine. Abby has a job, several jobs, and she has to do them well. But Abby senses something is off about Raven, something roiling— Raven doesn’t run away. Why would she run?

At dusk, Abby finds herself near Raven’s tent. Someone flaps out of it, but it isn’t Raven. It’s Wick. Abby presses her lips together. She takes a breath, releases her jaw muscles and her forehead.

“Abby! Um— Councillor! I mean— Chancellor!”

“Yes, Wick?”

“Raven— Raven’s missing.”

“She is?” Abby dislikes his mustache and the way his eyebrows do that lost little boy thing when he speaks to her. She maintains civility. “She must be collecting materials for the Mount Weather action. You know how she is— gets an idea and nothing can stop her.” She angles one ear toward him slightly.

His eyes know nothing. “It’s just—” he starts, but he can’t maintain eye contact. “It’s just, I saw her last night, and she left abruptly, and now she and her pack and her jacket are just— gone.”

Abby crosses her arms.

“What would you say precipitated the abrupt departure?”

“We—” He turns away, as if looking at someone crossing camp to his right. “We were celebrating shutting down the fog.”

“I see.”

“And she just hopped up after, dressed, and bolted—” Poor boy can’t stop himself.

“Perhaps she suddenly thought of Finn and needed some time to herself?” Abby might need a little time to think as well. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out. She’ll probably be back for dinner, don’t you think?”

Wick mumbles something, and moves toward the mess tent.

Abby delays a moment, then enters Raven’s tent. He’s right. Hardly anything is left. The bedroll, the pillow. The tent still smells of her. Abby slowly takes in air, slows her heart, smoothes her brow.

Raven is missing.

After hooking up with Wick. After hooking up with Abby. After watching Clarke execute Finn. Abby finds herself lying on the bedroll, slowly soaking up Raven’s scent, flashes of their nights together, wordless desperate release, wordless abrupt departure, warm wordless delight all pressing away other thoughts.

Abby misses dinner, inhaling, absorbing anything of Raven she can, as if— as if maybe surrounding herself with what’s left of Raven’s might allow her to sense Raven herself. It’s insane. It’s ridiculous. It defies logic. It defies what she knows of Raven. Raven isn’t one to run away, but she has bolted before, from Abby. What she knows of Raven swirls around her, swirls inside her for a time, but nevertheless she sleeps, in Raven’s tent, in Raven’s bed, on Raven’s pillow.

She oversleeps.

She is awakened by Wick poking his head into the tent.

“Rav— Chancellor?”

It’s her turn to avert her eyes. “Wick. Good morning.” She stops herself.

“She didn’t come back?”

“No, I haven’t seen her.”

“She’ll be back.”

“Yes. I have rounds, if you’ll excuse me.” And Abby brushes by him. Quietly, she organizes a search party. She finds something to eat, then hits her marks, finishes her rounds, checks in with Kane, then heads back to her quarters to clean up a bit.

A hint of ozone near the door tips her off.

Abby releases her jaw. She silently removes her boots and sits on the bed. Raven stirs slightly then sprawls out even more.

No, Abby has no hold on this girl, this woman, this colleague, but sometimes— sometimes she wishes she did. Raven should be involved with someone like Wick, someone young, someone who shares her interests, someone she could talk to, she should. It’s reasonable. Logical. Practical. And Raven could be the definition of practical. As could Abby.

But Abby, releasing her jaw, slowly taking in breath and more slowly letting it out, in this one tiny corner of her life, has no interest in what’s practical. For an instant, she despises Wick. But it’s ridiculous. It’s childish. She needs Wick, they all need Wick, the way they all need Raven. So the practical must prevail. It’s Abby’s job, one of Abby’s jobs, to make it possible for everyone to work together. So, again, there is no room for Abby to indulge her own weaknesses. No room at all.

“Raven—” Abby starts, her voice catching. Raven’s breathing continues undisturbed.

(But neither is Raven’s being here logical…)

“Raven.” But again, she gets no response. Abby lays her hand on Raven’s back and begins making circles, the way, she remembers, she used to wake up Clarke before school. Abby presses her lips together, but continues until Raven lifts her head.

“Abby.”

“Wick was worried about you.”

Raven groans, turns over and pulls a pillow over her head. Abby tugs the pillow a little away from her ear.

“I was worried about you.”

Raven grabs the pillow back. Then, “Wait, you were?”

“Yes, and Wick. Who found me sleeping in your sleeping bag this morning.”

“Abby, you were sleeping with Wick in my sleeping bag? That’s gross.”

“No, but he did mention something about celebrating disabling the acid fog.”

Raven’s eyes roll up. “I hardly know him.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“He’s arrogant and obnoxious.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“He does that puppy thing with his eyebrows.”

“Ugh, I know.”

“He’s always just been handed everything I ever wanted. And he expected me as well. And I—”

“Jumped him and bolted?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“Raven, I think he thinks he’s in love with you.”

“But it was you who was sleeping in my bed—”

“And you in mine, oddly enough.”

“Yeah, I gotta fix this thing with Wick.”

“Careful, Honey, we need him. We all need him. Like we all need you.”

Raven makes a face, then puts her shoes and brace on. “We all need me?”

Abby nods, once. Raven stands. Turbulence stirs as she heads for the door.

“Before you go—,” says Abby. Raven stops, turns, the air spinning around her. Abby chews her lip for a moment. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night.”

Raven turns again. She nods once.

The breeze from the closing door lifts hair from Abby’s face. She keeps herself from intervening, knowing she can fix the situation if Raven fails. But Abby doesn’t want Raven to fail. She wants to help her, make it easier for her—

—and Raven has enough on her plate. She doesn’t need to be hobbled in that way as well. A nagging agitation stirs Abby. She was on a mission. What was it?

Refocusing, Abby returns to her routine. But her thoughts keep drifting to Raven. She finds herself shaking her head, hard, as if to shake the thoughts right out of it. Her head is too crowded, too full, too busy, but still something— something in her chest is missing.

Abby forces herself to continue to perform her duties.

Something— she doesn’t know what— tells her to turn. Abby’s eyes meet Raven’s over Wick’s shoulder. Abby catches her breath. She can’t look away. Wick’s shoulders slump slightly. He follows Raven’s glance and turns his head. Abby tries not to make eye contact with him and fails. He nods. He takes a breath, straightens, and walks off. Raven’s eyes widen, then she turns, walks the other direction, leaving Abby, across camp, alone.

Well after nightfall, having checked in with all the significant players, Abby seeks refuge in her quarters. A quiet night before their oncoming storm is just the relief she needs. She succumbs to sleep almost immediately.

And is awakened an hour later with lips behind her ear. Abby startles, turning suddenly and elbowing Raven in her sternum.

“Oh my god. Raven, I’m so sorry!”

“Shhhh. I’m okay. Shhhh.”

Abby can take a hint. But when Raven starts kissing her again, Abby pulls away slightly, wraps her arm around her, and pulls her close.

This girl, this woman, this brilliant, complicated human is never unwelcome, though she’s never actually been invited. Abby holds Raven, stroking her back, kneading her shoulders, sensing the tension always running through her. Raven again brings her lips to Abby’s skin, this time to her breast, but Abby moves her a little off.

“Shhhh. It’s okay,” Abby whispers.

Raven holds on tighter, her shoulders beginning to shake. Abby senses the girl she’s holding getting smaller, grasping onto her like a child. Abby continues stroking Raven’s temples, hair, and back until her trembling smoothes, slows, stops. Abby continues to hold her as she sleeps until Abby also drifts off.

And again awakens alone.

Abby expects Raven to leave in the night. She has no reason not to. And really, at the bottom of everything, nobody has time in wartime to establish deep connections. Where’s the payoff? Everyone could be dead or dying or captured tomorrow. This way works fine. Work when necessary, seek comfort when possible. Move forward.

Wind whips up as they prepare to move on Mount Weather. Abby automatically gathers supplies, guides her people, gives orders. She senses Raven doing her part when Raven turns and catches her glance. Abby lifts her chin, blinks once. Raven’s expression doesn’t change, or wait, did her eyes glimmer, just a little?

Abby’s own eyes harden slightly, as Kane approaches. She sidesteps him, offering a plausible excuse. Then out the corner of her eye she spies Raven stumble and stagger two steps, recover and move on. Something rises inside Abby, something she’ll need in the coming battle. It spurs her forward, near Clarke, and as she passes Raven, Abby places a firm hand for a moment on her shoulder.

Wick, now on the other side of Raven, nods to Abby.

Don’t touch her, Abby thinks. Loudly. Maybe Wick hears it— he moves off a little.

We need him, Abby reminds herself.

They walk silently toward the mountain, hair whipping their faces. At the junction that will take Wick and Raven to the dam, Abby doesn’t stop herself. Her lips press together, her hand darts out and catches Raven’s elbow, pulls her close.

Raven looks angry for a moment, but when the Chancellor’s hand cups her face, her eyes go soft and bright.

“Raven,” says Abby, “may we meet again.”

“We will,” says Raven, and she’s gone.

Abby’s group goes one way, Clarke’s another. Anticipation, excitement, trepidation, and craving ferment together in Abby’s belly, sour bubbles popping. They don’t erupt until she smells the reapers. Bile, acid, effluvia pour out but cannot overcome their rotting flesh stench.

Reapers drive them into a tight knot, then tie each of them to a branch. They march the Arkers toward the tunnels.

Kane manages to steer his log toward her.

“They didn’t kill us,” he says, “They need us.”

Sometimes Abby hates when Kane is right, but this time she doesn’t. What the reapers need them for can’t be good, but at least it will give them some time to improvise.

Explosions jolt the ground. Abby won’t think, can’t think about that. Either Raven and Wick turned off the power or they didn’t. Abby shuts herself down. She becomes a walking machine, nearly asleep on her feet until the reapers herd them into an abattoir.

Blood and bone.

Abby’s extensive experience with the sights and smells of clotting blood and pulverized bone doesn’t prepare her for Dr. Tsing’s debacle. Controlling her visceral, animal response to the smells of blood and bone in this dungeon eludes her. Amid fear steaming off her people and the relentless drill, she forces herself to take account of the Arkers. She registers Raven and Wick and Kane, but not, thankfully, Clarke.

The madmen throw the body down the chute.

With all their technology, their quest to change their biology so consumes them that they spare no time or effort for cleanliness or mercy. Their mission is to harvest what they can use of her people and throw the chaff away. Bodies sliding down a chute, almost dead, but not quite, to be ravished and ravaged by the subhumans they have created and kept below even themselves.

Abby notices Wick try, and fail, to protect Raven from being the next to die.

Adrenaline, that miraculous substance that has allowed Abby to remain frozen in a stupor, now spurs her to wake up and prepare to fight— if she ever gets the chance. They’ve taken Raven. They have forfeited their humanity.

Raven’s screaming pitches Abby back and forth from now to when she herself made Raven scream in pain. Anger alone will only sabotage her efforts. She needs to focus, and not just on Raven, not on their impersonal intimacies, which were perhaps not so impersonal as Abby had intended. She needs to focus, to bring to bear any and all advantages this impossible scenario might reveal. Clarke, wherever she may be, will be doing the same.

The mountain men don’t deserve to stay alive.

So when she spies the camera, when the tiny whirr of its movement toward her ticks her ears, she takes a chance.

“Kill them, Clarke! Kill them all!”

And Raven is released. Screaming and bleeding, she is released, and Abby is taken in her place.

Her understanding of the pain scale is obliterated in seconds. She prays— amusing for this woman of science— for oblivion. Merciful adrenaline slips her into a netherworld barely above consciousness.

Justice here is swift and severe, and, as on The Ark, not always just.

Abby rouses to a vision of her beautiful daughter. Her daughter, filthy, bloody, aged beyond her years, briefs her as she releases her bonds. Abby tries to stand and collapses into her daughter’s— into her Commander’s arms.

From a stretcher, Abby cranes her head and finds Raven, cradled by Wick. Good. It’s for the best. He’s shown himself worthy and caring. When he accidentally catches her glance, she gives him a thin smile and a nod.

Wick nods back.

Abby’s body, flooded with chemicals, sinks into much-needed sleep on the trek back to Camp Jaha. She wakes briefly from time to time and notes each time that Wick still carries Raven.

Abby wakes again as Jackson tends to her wounds.

“Raven?” she says, and he gestures to the cot next to hers.

“You should be up and walking in a few days,” he says, finishing.

“I’ll be up and walking when I’m ready,” says Abby.

Jackson zips his lip and leaves.

Sitting up is nauseating, but not deadly. She scoots the cot closer to Raven’s.

“Raven. Honey.”

Raven’s eyes blink open, unfocused.

She says nothing but reaches for Abby’s hand, takes it, and closes her eyes again.

Abby, still holding on, stretches out on her cot and allows herself some rest.

She dreams, again, of Jake, of Callie, of the pile of ashen bones by the dropship. She dreams of radiation burn-covered bodies, dozens upon dozens of them. She dreams of the smells of blood and bone, of roasted flesh, of ash. Maybe there really aren’t any good guys.

She wakes, heart pounding, throat rough, to a cool hand on her forehead.

“Abby,” says Raven, “We’re home.”

Raven is here.


End file.
